Sometimes I think words are such an imperfect vehicle for expression, with their rigid boundaries that never-the-less end up being somewhat fluid in interpretation. In the end, when words are left to stand on their own, without the support of the body, they become harder, encased, in a way, and oh-so-brittle. They become our own vehicles for self-righteousness, we flog ourselves with the words we read in our emails, on our phones, ascribing all our negative thoughts about ourselves to the simple value of each vowel and consonant. As though words actually had no meaning unto themselves and were rather just a narrow binding for emotion.